Photo: Tripp and Steve Markusen on the summit of the Grand Teton, Wyoming, August 8, 2024
As we reached the Upper Saddle at an elevation of 13,200 feet, I turned to my youngest son Tripp (age 24) and said, “Don’t worry about leading, I got this.” It is Thursday August 8, 2024, 9 am. We have been on the move since leaving our high camp at 4 am.
He looked at me with visible relief and said, “Okay, thanks.” We are 500 feet below the summit of one of the most sought-after peaks in North America: the Grand Teton. The rock above is intimidating. There is nothing but air until the floor of Valhalla canyon 2000 feet below. Directly opposite the sunrise, we shiver in the shadow exposed to a biting west wind.
Photo: Tripp with sunrise on the Lower Saddle
My son Tripp is a successful example of the adversity hypothesis: people need adversity, setbacks, and even trauma to achieve personal development and learn resiliency.
I said, “No problem. You are doing great. This is a big climb. You’ve never done something like this before.”
Tripp, the youngest of five, bore the brunt of my business failure, divorce, SEC and DOJ investigation. He was 14 at the time and had a tough time in high school. He went to college, but in his second semester COVID hit. Remote learning did not work for him. He came home and got a job in construction: concrete laborer. He grew up. Over the next three years, he worked himself up to finisher and assistant foremen.
He decided construction was not his path. He applied, and was accepted, into the University Of Minnesota School Of Architecture. He thrived; rose to the top of the class and was selected for the accelerated program. He started climbing at the local rock climbing gym and brought me out of rock climbing retirement. I had a blast climbing with him.
Three days before climbing the Grand, we stood at the foot of Baxter’s Pinnacle—a five hundred foot vertical spire soaring above Jenny Lake. Tripp took the first lead. He did great, but he was not in a happy place. I expected too much. I led the rest of the climb. It worked. He settled down. Overcoming his fear on this climb prepared him for the Grand.
Photo: Tripp leading the first pitch on Baxter’s Pinnacle
On the Upper Saddle, I went through my metal checklist: harness buckled, rope tied, helmet on, protection gear ready to go. I turned to Tripp who said, “You are on belay.”
I took a deep breath and said, “Climbing.” I left the security of the saddle traversing on cold rock across the famous “Belly Roll’ and the “Crawl.” Below my feet there was nothing but air. I belayed Tripp across. A big smile broke out across his face.
He said, “That wasn’t so bad.” I smiled back. Two hours, four technical sections and some exposed scrambling found us on the summit. I thought of my own struggles with adversity. There have been many, but those struggles taught me resiliency. Here I am at age 70 with my son in one of the coolest places on earth.
It is 9:30 pm. Our world has shrunk to pools of light from our headlamps illuminating the trail. Tripp is my support as I wallow in self-pity. I am old and slow. What am I doing here? We have been on the move for seventeen hours. I am dehydrated, hungry, and exhausted. Tripp is ready to catch me if I fall. I have descended this trail over twenty five times in the last fifty years. This has to be the hardest. Another 45 minutes of pain and we reach the sanctuary of our truck.
It is hardship and trauma that prepared us for this day; and gives us the resiliency to handle what comes in the future.
Photo: Tripp packing for the descent after a successful climb.
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